Tomorrow
by fionasank
Summary: Destiel AU: Cas's 4 o'clock bus is always late, but once he meets a green-eyed boy at the bus stop, he finds that he doesn't really mind the wait.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Casually starts a new fic when three others are unfinished lol. I have like five chapters of this written already though so expect regular updates!**_

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_Chapter One_

The bus is late again. The bus has been late for three days in a row. And it's starting to piss him off.

Cas sits on the bench and pulls out his phone, mindlessly scrolling through his pictures and checking his calendar. The first day, the bus was late five minutes. Then, fifteen. It's currently two minutes late and he doesn't know how long he's going to be there for, but he settles in and watches the rain through the clear roof of the shelter and sandwiches his hands between his thighs for warmth. It's the end of winter, but you wouldn't know it from looking at the dark grey sky. Cas is wearing three layers. He forgot his gloves, like an idiot.

An elderly lady sits to his left on the bench and they ignore each other while they wait. There's a free space to Cas's right, but he doubts anyone will sit in it. Hardly anyone takes this bus; who'd want to get from one shitty town to the other? He recognises the old lady, though, as he takes this bus every day, at the same time, to get home from high school, and she sometimes joins him, though they've never spoken. He doesn't really want to change that. He likes anonymity, even if it's meaningless, because it's rare around here.

Four minutes late. He needs to get home before six. His hands start to shake with the cold and he pulls his sleeves over them. Cas considers putting his hood up, but it would look a bit silly seeing as he's under the shelter. Still, his ears are cold, so he pulls the cotton of his hoodie up over his head.

The material blocks his peripheral so he's unaware of the presence approaching beside him until he feels them sit down in the empty space to his right. He glances over quickly with surprise: a boy of about the same age is sitting with a meatball sub and a smile, and he's fucking beautiful. Cas has never seen him on this bus before, or at school. It's possible that he's a few years older and already graduated, seeing as Cas is a senior. The boy doesn't look at Cas, or any of his surroundings, just watches his sandwich with glee as he eats it. He drops sauce on his shirt, and Cas wants to point it out, but that's not a very good first impression to give someone, so he re-evaluates and tries something else.

"What is that?" he asks, pointing to the sandwich.

The boy turns to him in surprise. "Oh, this? Sandwich."

"What kind?"

"Meatball."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Subway, just down the road."

"Smells good."

"God, I know, right?" He looks at it proudly. "I'd offer you some but I don't want to."

Cas laughs. "That's alright. Hey, I come on this bus every day, I haven't seen you before."

The boy swallows his mouthful before speaking. "I got a new job. Today was my first day. Got the bus in this morning, taking it back home."

"Oh, right. I get a ride from my father in the mornings. He works late every night, though."

The boy nods. "Right."

"How was your first day?"

"Pretty good. It's just a temporary thing, to raise some money. My brother's going to college, so I gotta bring in some dough otherwise I won't be eating for months." He seems disconnected from what he's saying, looking up at the sky as he says it.

"What's the job?" Cas asks conversationally.

"Sweeping up hair in some barber shop. Not the most glamorous or skilled of gigs, I know, but it's so gross that they pay well." He looks down again, meeting Cas's eye, and Cas sees that the boy's eyes are green, the greenest he's ever seen. The light isn't too good so he has to squint, but he thinks he can make out a spattering of freckles on the boy's nose.

"Did you graduate already?"

"Yeah. Well. I dropped out, actually, half way through senior year. Been working shitty jobs for two years." He takes off his hat and holds it in his hands, revealing short, dirty blonde hair.

"So you're, what, twenty?"

"Nineteen. Twenty in a few weeks. Birthday's on the 24th."

"Of January?"

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I'm eighteen. Senior."

The boy nods, remembering his sandwich and taking a bite, and Cas feels weird about referring to him in his mind as 'the boy' when he's nineteen and should be 'the man', but that doesn't feel right either, because he wants to know the guy's name.

"Which high school?" the boy asks before Cas can say anything.

"The one a few blocks away." Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, and realises he still has his glasses on. He takes them off, shoving them in the pocket of his hoodie. "I got yelled at today."

"How come?"

"I asked to skip gym so I could work on my physics project."

The boy chuckles. "Man, don't wanna piss off a gym teacher."

"Yeah, well, I know that now. He made me run five laps of the football pitch."

"Jesus, that's harsh. Man, I don't miss those days."

"What's it like, being in the adult world? Is it as freeing as everyone expects it to be?"

The boy frowns. "I don't know. For me, not really. I mean, I dropped out cos my dad made me, cos he needed the extra income after mom died, so I've not had a lot of freedom. I mean, I wanna go back to school, I wanna go to college too, but I don't wanna sacrifice Sam's education for my own."

"Sam's your brother?"

"Yeah," says the boy, and then looks embarrassed. "But I mean, for you, it might be different. You wanna go to college?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm going to."

"You're _going_ to? Do you not want to?"

Cas sighs, looking down at his hands as they pull at the sleeves of his hoodie. "I don't know. I have to, though, doesn't matter whether I want to or not."

"I feel you there," the boy mutters, and lets out a shaky laugh, his breath fogging up the cold air.

There's a silence, and then Cas remembers the question he wanted to ask. "Hey," he says, turning back to the boy. "We are in the unusual situation where I know your story, not your name."

It's the longest second of his life as Cas waits nervously for the boy's reaction.

He smiles, and holds out his hand, and says, "I'm Dean."

"Cas." He takes Dean's hand and shakes it, and it's warm, though Dean isn't wearing gloves either.

"Jesus, your hands are cold," Dean says, and lets go to dig through his bag, coming up with a pair of gloves. "Here."

"No, it's alright, I have some at home."

"I know, idiot. Borrow them for today and give them back tomorrow."

Cas raises his eyebrows. "Tomorrow? You mean here?"

"Yeah. I mean, if we both get the same bus, we're bound to see each other."

Cas stares at the gloves, and then at Dean, and smiles. "Okay. Thank you."

"No problem."

He puts the gloves on, and they help immensely. He's about to tell Dean this when Dean stands up and looks at the bus that's just arrived.

"It's the 4:20, that's us," he says to Cas.

"Oh. We must live in different places. My bus is at 4."

Dean frowns. "What are you still doing here, then?"

"It's late. It was late the last two days, too."

"Oh. Looks like we're not on the same bus after all."

"Yeah." Cas is disappointed, obviously. He'd wanted to sit next to Dean and talk more.

They look at each other for a few moments before Dean says, "Right, well. I gotta get on this. See you tomorrow, though."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow." Cas smiles, and Dean smiles back, and then he's gone.

Cas sits there, staring at his gloved hands and the abandoned sandwich on the seat next to him.

"He seems nice," says the old woman next to him.

"Yeah," Cas replies, and doesn't elaborate, because it takes a rare case to get him to talk to strangers, and it seems that Dean is just that.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, much appreciated! :))_**

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_Chapter Two_

The next day's weather is just as bad, but Cas brought his own gloves this time, so he doesn't mind too much. Still, he wears Dean's gloves all day at school, and switches on the way to the bus stop.

It's a Thursday, and Cas relishes in the thought that there's just one day left of the academic week, seeing as all that happened at school is stress and homework and eating lunch. But the weekend also means no bus stop, and no handsome stranger with the pretty eyes.

Cas knows he's being idiotic, he knows he's only met the guy once, but he hasn't felt that kind of an instant connection to anyone, ever, those butterflies that cropped up and haven't faded since, and that makes him wonder what's so special about Dean, and why he can't get him off his mind.

When he gets to the bus stop Dean isn't there, seeing as his bus arrives twenty minutes after Cas's. He'd only got there at around 4:05 yesterday. Cas hopes to God that his bus is late again.

And it seems someone is listening, as Dean walks up with a smile at five past. He sits down on Cas's right – the elderly lady on his left has been replaced by a middle aged man – and says, "Afternoon."

"Hi. I've got your gloves." He hands them back with slight reluctance.

"Thanks, man." He puts them in his bag, despite the fact that his hands are bare. When he sees Cas looking at them, he says, "My hands never get cold, really. I only have these gloves because Sammy gave them as a Christmas present."

"Is Sammy the same Sam that's your brother?"

"Yep."

"I'm guessing he's not a big fan of that nickname."

"He's been trying to get me to stop since he hit thirteen." Dean grins. "So how was your day?"

Cas grimaces slightly at the harsh comparison between his day at school and how he feels right now. "Oh, okay. I got an A+ in Calculus, which is nice."

"Sweet!" Dean says, and punches Cas on the arm. "Didn't know you were a freakin' genius, man!"

"I'm really not," Cas says, rushing to diffuse the compliment. "I just study a lot."

"Don't be modest, that's impressive as hell."

Cas smiles. "Really?"

"Really!"

"Thank you. No one really congratulates me, usually. Everyone just wants me to keep it up, or do better."

Dean sighs and shakes his head. "People."

"What about yours?"

"Boring. Made tea and coffee for people. Swept things. Got _so_ bored I considered straightening my hair."

Cas snorts. "I don't think that's possible."

"Hey, these people are professionals. There's no hair too short, no man too petulant."

"How's Sam?"

"Good. Excited for Stanford. He's started packing for September already and it's only January."

"Are you going to miss him?"

Dean follows the journey of a passer-by with his eyes. Cas notices how the cold makes his cheeks go a bit pink. "Yeah. Yeah, a lot. But I'm not gonna hold him back."

"Good, yeah. That's good. Do you live with him?"

"Yeah, it's me and Sam and dad in a two bedroom place. Me and Sam used to share, but now he's six foot four we just take turns sleeping on the couch."

"Right."

"Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why do you think we're so honest with each other?"

Cas purses his lips. "Oh. Well, I think it has something to do with the fact that I don't know your last name or where you live and can't really judge you in terms of the information I have, and vice versa."

Dean considers this, chewing on his bottom lip, which is something that's never appealed to Cas before, but now demands his full attention. "Hmm. You've got something there, I think."

"Well, I did get an A+ in Calculus, I know a thing or two about life," Cas says with a smirk, and Dean huffs a laugh.

"So, tell me about _your _family," Dean says while Cas checks the time. It's quarter past. Dean's bus is never late; they have five minutes.

"Oh, well. Not much to tell. My older brothers are all at college, my little sister Anna is in middle school across town. My father has a high pressure job and yells a lot and locks himself in his study for at least five hours every weekend, and my mother travels a lot. She's in Berlin at the moment, on business."

"Sweet. You get cool souvenirs?"

"No."

"Not so sweet. Why does your dad yell?"

"Because he's stressed. Because we don't put our plates in the dishwasher. Because we leave our towels on the floor of the bathroom, that kind of thing."

"Well, that sounds reasonable."

Cas shakes his head. "When I say he yells, I mean, he _yells. _He tells me I'm a disappointment for, like, getting a B."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean says flatly.

"I shouldn't complain, he's never hit me or anything. But it's just a bit annoying when he doesn't come to see me at the school concerts, or go to parents' evening or anything."

"Yeah, mine doesn't do that either." He holds up an imaginary glass. "To shitty dads."

Cas knocks his own pretend glass against it.

"So, what are these school concerts?" Dean asks, probably sensing Cas's growing discomfort.

"Oh, it's just band. I play the violin."

"That's awesome," Dean says, smiling. "That's like, my favourite one."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Give me a kickass movie with a touching violin score any day. I eat that shit up."

Cas blushes a little, the sudden heat causing his face to tingle. "Thank you, I guess."

"Man, don't you have friends that can say supportive crap? You're acting like no one's ever been nice to you before."

"I have friends, asshole. We just don't brag to each other all the time."

"Telling people about your achievements isn't bragging, idiot. Anyway, you're allowed to brag. Do whatever the hell you want to do."

Cas finds himself grinning. Here he is, neurotic perfectionist on the brink of a nervous breakdown, and he's sitting next to a stranger with everything he needs. But he'd fallen for him even before he knew this.

"Well, that's certainly a good way to live," he replies after a while. "I wish I could relax a bit more."

"I wish I could relax a bit _less. _If I ever get my own place, I swear I'm gonna get kicked out simply by forgetting to pay my bills."

4:18. His heart speeds up.

"Yeah, I suppose. Do you want your own place?"

"Sure, I mean, sometime in the future."

"What about a job? What do you wanna be?"

Dean shrugs and watches the rain fall, twisting his hat between his hands without putting it on. "Don't really know. Never thought about it."

"You never thought about your future career?"

"No, not really. I was always just thinking about the present."

This is the most surprising thing Dean could have said; all Cas has done for his whole life is plan. "Isn't there anything you picture for yourself in the future?"

Dean turns to him and looks him dead in the eye. "All I know is I want to fall in love. I wanna have kids, and eat apple pie, and have a fence that I force my offspring to paint by giving them two dollars and pretending like that's a lot. I just want to be happy."

Cas stares at him, because damn if that wasn't wise as hell. He looks at Dean like the rain isn't falling, like the sky is lit up with more sun than the depths of summer could ever hope for, like the bus will never come.

"Gotta go," says Dean, standing up. "Tomorrow, you gotta tell me about your future. Got it?"

"Got it," says Cas with a smile.

Dean smiles back, patting Cas on the shoulder before jumping on his bus.

"Tomorrow," Cas says under his breath, and smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

"What's got you so happy?" says Meg, bumping her elbow into his side as they walk to the cafeteria. It's no surprise that she's noticed his good mood, seeing as usually he's inherently miserable and sarcastic. But he's been nothing but pleasant ever since Wednesday afternoon.

"Oh, nothing," he says, grabbing a tray and getting in the queue. He picks up a tuna sandwich and an apple and sits down with his friends, staring at the clock. It's only 12. He sighs and starts on his food.

Meg sits down beside him, and starts talking to Charlie, who sits opposite him. They talk about general things, like people and shows, and Cas would normally join in, but right now he's content to just sit and smile.

"Cas, what about you?" Charlie asks him, and he snaps back to reality with a loud and unintelligible, "What?"

"You wanna come bowling later?"

"What time?"

"Jo was gonna drive us straight from school."

"So like, 4?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I can't, sorry. I have a thing."

"He has a thing," Jo says, rolling her eyes. "When does he _not _have a thing?"

"Sorry, maybe next time," Cas says, smiling apologetically. Charlie smiles back, and Jo shakes her head in mock exasperation.

He appreciates his friends, for once. None of them asked why he was busy. And he's grateful, seeing as he wouldn't know how to explain his relationship with the plaid-wearing blonde stranger who is annoyingly intriguing.

* * *

Dean is already there when Cas gets to the bus stop at 3:55, and he's got another sandwich, and he's waving. Cas waves back as he approaches, and then says, "Hey," when he's within earshot.

"Hey, stranger. You alright?"

"Pretty good, yeah. You?"

"Can't complain." He takes a bite and says, with his mouth full, "So, your future."

"What?"

"I told you about my picket fence fantasy – which you're not allowed to tell _anyone, _by the way, even if you don't know anyone I know – so now you gotta tell me about you. What you got planned?"

Cas rubs his hands up and down his biceps for warmth. "Well, college. Dad wants me to go to an Ivy League one, to study something like Math or Physics or Engineering. But I already sent out my applications, and, uh, I applied for English Literature."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "You're an English guy?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that. To be honest, I like books more than most people." He wouldn't have put the 'most' in that sentence a few days ago.

Dean laughs. "I feel that. I can't say I read a lot, but I'm a big fan of fiction in general. I don't watch _Doctor Sexy M.D. _for the hot people, I'll tell you that. So, when you gonna tell him?"

Cas sighs. "God, I have no idea. It's too late to change my mind, I sent them all a month ago."

"Bake him a nice pie or something, tell him over that."

"I can't cook. And he doesn't like pie."

"He's a monster," Dean breathes, and grins to show he's joking. "C'mon, Cas, you gotta tell him sometime. He's not gonna murder you and hide the body under a tree in your back yard."

"I wouldn't put it past him."

Dean smirks. "Well, still. You can die without the burden of a secret, or whatever. I dunno. I keep a lot of secrets, I'm not one to talk. But you don't wanna go down my road. If my dad found out half the things I've done, I'd be the one under the tree."

Cas smiles, one side of his mouth curling upwards mischievously. "And what have you done that's so bad?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" Dean says, cocking an eyebrow.

"If you're gonna tell anyone, may as well tell me. I couldn't blab to your dad even if I wanted to."

Dean looks at him seriously for a moment, then nods once. "Alright. I'll start you off with something small. I'm really, really good at hustling pool."

"Seriously?"

"Poker, too. This face isn't just adorable, it can bluff, too."

Cas nods, impressed. "That's kind of cool, actually."

"Yeah, and illegal, so. Keep your pretty mouth shut."

"Sure thing," Cas says, keeping the sentence short so he doesn't have a chance to stumble over his words because of what Dean just fucking said.

"So, back to you. What's after college?"

Cas groans.

"What?"

"The futureeeeee."

"Hey, you asked first."

Cas runs a hand through his dark hair and says, "Okay, fine. Well, I want to be a writer."

"What's so bad about that?"

"Well, it doesn't exactly pay a lot, does it? And if I turn out to suck at it, what do I do then? What good is a degree in English Literature if you can't actually write?"

"I bet you can write," Dean says. "You've got one of those faces."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No, seriously. Sometimes you just look at people and you know that they can hash out an awesome poem or something."

"Trust me, my poetry isn't awesome. It's like a fish wrote it. Except it's not about water or anything, or anything to do with fish – see how bad I am at metaphors?"

"I thought that was a simile."

"Fuck."

"Can I see some of it?" Dean asks, and Cas picks up on the slight hesitation.

"Some of what?"

"Your writing."

"No."

"Come on."

"No way."

"Just a little. I bet it's good."

"It's really not."

"Please."

"I've never shown it to anyone before."

"If you're gonna show anyone, may as well be me, remember? And I won't make fun of you, I'll help, I swear. Plus, if you get embarrassed, you never have to speak to me again." He raises his eyebrows reassuringly and smiles a little, and Cas's defence threatens to crumble.

"I haven't written that much." This isn't strictly true.

"I don't care." Dean clicks his fingers suddenly. "Tell you what, I'll sweeten the deal. For every thing you show me, I'll tell you another of my awesome, badass secrets."

Cas hesitates, then sighs. "Fine. Fine!"

"Deal?" Dean holds out his hand.

Cas shakes it. "Deal."

"Awesome. Now, I told you about the pool, you owe me one poem or whatever."

"That was before the deal! And I don't have anything with me right now."

"Okay, well, I expect two things on Monday."

"You're a dick."

"I'm motivating you, idiot." He smiles in satisfaction and takes another bite of his sandwich. Meatball sauce gets all around his mouth and Cas snorts. "What?" Dean asks.

"You got a little, um…" He points to his own mouth. "Sauce."

"Oh. Thanks." Dean wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. "I get it?"

"Almost. There's a bit, uh… let me." He reaches across the small distance between them and wipes the sauce from the area of skin just beside Dean's lips. He lets his hand linger, wiping slightly further than necessary in order to let his thumb brush across a small portion of Dean's lips.

Then he pulls back and wipes the sauce on his jeans and says, "Got it."

"Thanks," says Dean quietly, and looks down at Cas's hands with curiosity. Cas stays perfectly still. He watches as Dean's eyes trail from his hands to his arms to his chest, all completely covered by layers of jackets and wool, to his face, up along his jawline, staying on his lips for a while before meeting his eyes again. He looks away once he realises Cas is watching him in return.

"Anyway. How was your day?" Cas asks stiffly, rubbing his gloved hands together because fuck, it's so _cold._

"Fine. Boring. Yours?"

"About the same. I think it's gonna snow soon."

"Really? How come?"

"Well, for one, they said it on the news this morning. Also, look at the sky. Those clouds look heavy."

"I hope it snows," Dean says, his voice excited. "I love snow."

"Really? I've always hated it."

Dean looks at him with downright disbelief. "Are you serious? It's awesome! You can make snowmen and snow angels and have snowball fights!"

"I've always hated the cold, I don't know what to tell you."

"I mean, yeah, the cold sucks, but, _snow, _man! It's like being surrounded by Play-Doh!"

Cas just shrugs.

"Well, you're gonna hate it even more when I sock you in the face with a snowball," Dean mutters, and grins when Cas catches his eye.

"My aim is terrible, so it would be kind of a hollow victory."

"Good. Don't want you hitting me back, do I?"

"There'd be no competition, either."

"I'm not really the competitive type."

"Bullshit."

"Honestly, Cas, you've got me all wrong," Dean says sweetly, putting a hand over his heart. "I wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Also bullshit."

Dean punches his arm. "Alright, you got me on that one. But in my defence, most flies are dicks."

Cas laughs a little, then checks his watch. 4:17. Damn.

"Why is your bus always so late?" Dean asks after checking the time himself.

"I don't know." He doesn't care, either.

"Maybe the driver's into weed, or something."

Cas snorts. "And that means that he's late?"

"Well, yeah. He's got to make a couple stops at gas station restrooms to smoke it."

"Maybe he's the leader of an international drug ring," Cas deadpans.

"Probably," Dean says, nodding. "Yep. God, can't turn a corner these days without running into a big pile of drugs. I see what those Republicans are on about, now."

"Shut up," Cas says, smiling, and shoves Dean's leg. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Dean's grin.

Dean's bus pulls up after a few minutes of comfortable silence, and Dean gives Cas a mock salute, saying, "Remember, two pieces of work by Monday or it's detention for the week."

"I hate this school."

"See you, Cas."

"Bye, Dean."

Dean looks at him for a few moments and smiles, before stepping onto his bus. Cas watches it drive away. It's gonna be a long frigging weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Monday after school, he's wringing his hands together and his stomach is flipping relentlessly and the pieces of paper are burning a hole in his back pocket. He's never done anything like this, never showed his writing to _anyone_, but he's not scared, just nervous. He knows Dean won't, like, _ridicule _him or anything, but he's still imagining worst case scenarios. That's what he does, that's who he is.

He sits down on the hard plastic bench and after a few minutes Dean shows up, at about 4:05, and he says, "Hey, Cas, how was your day?"

"Fine," Cas says in reply, but really he should have mentioned how distracted he was, how he forgot to do his homework because he spent all weekend digging through his notebooks finding something he was even a _little _proud of, how he didn't eat lunch because he couldn't stop watching the clock. But he can't say this, no, of course not, because it's a ridiculous reaction to someone you've known for three days. "Yours?"

"Some teenage boy spilled coffee on me." He gestures to the stain on his pants.

"Dangerous job, is it?" he says, looking at Dean's crotch because he can.

"I have to wear a safety hat. So, you got something for me?" he asks, slipping into a grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cas says innocently, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Come on, idiot, out with it."

Cas pulls the piece of paper from his back pocket and says, "Fine. One, then you gotta tell me a secret."

"That's the deal."

Cas hands him the first piece of paper. "Oh god, just, don't - don't judge me, okay?"

"'Course not. That's the point of this." He opens the piece of paper and starts reading. Cas would read it with him but he's too far away and also if he did he'd probably snatch it back and Google directions to the nearest cliff that he could throw himself off of. So he pulls out his phone and checks his messages and waits patiently but without the patience part.

"Dude," Dean says after a minute. "_Dude._"

"What?" Cas asks, a solid block of self-consciousness.

"That was awesome!" He grins and punches Cas on the shoulder, and Cas is kind of growing into that.

"Really? Uh, thank you."

"Fuckin' _poetry, _man! That's so cool!" His smile is so wide that he's showing most of his teeth and his eyes have little crinkles by them and his shirt is green today and hell if it doesn't bring out his eyes like there's no tomorrow. "I don't know why you wanted to keep this a secret, like, shout it from the rooftops or whatever."

Cas's blush finally overpowers him and creeps its way onto his face. "Thank you. Okay, your turn."

"What? Oh. Alright, let me see." He taps his finger against his chin, the piece of paper still in his hand. "Well, uh. Are we working under the assumption that you won't tell anyone what I tell you?"

"Of course. I thought that was implied."

"Uh. Okay, well. Last year, I told dad I was sleeping round a friend's house, and I went to a concert."

"Who was the concert for?"

"Don't laugh at me."

"Promise."

"_Air Supply."_

"Is that a person?"

Dean raises his eyebrows. "You never heard _All Out Of Love?"_

"Uh, no. Sorry."

"Damn. That was meant to have more impact. Although, you not knowing who they are makes it a little less shameful."

"It also makes it a pretty crappy secret."

"Who cares. Gimme that thing." He points to the remaining piece of paper in Cas's hand.

Cas hands it over and says, "Alright, now give me that one back."

"Do you have another copy?"

"No."

"Ugh. Fine." Dean hands it back and looks at the sheet he's just been given. Cas holds his breath. This time, he does read over Dean's shoulder, scooting up so he's right next to him, his side pressing slightly into Dean's, and Dean doesn't react at all. He watches Dean closely, sees his mouth move slightly as he reads, and his eyes move side to side, and his hands absently fiddle with the sides of the page.

"Jesus," Dean breathes eventually, and Cas presses his lips together.

"Um," he says.

"Jesus, Cas, where do you _get _this stuff from?"

"I don't know, I just. It's no good, really."

"Fuck that!" He reads from the page: "_'Freedom is a length of rope / God wants you to hang yourself with it'_? That's incredible."

Cas feels his blush in every inch of his body. "Really?"

"Dude, yes." Dean deliberates for a moment and then stands up with the paper, stopping a passer-by with a quick, "Excuse me."

"Yes?" says the woman.

"My friend wrote this poem, and he doesn't think it's any good, but it _is, _so would you mind judging?"

"_Dean,_" Cas urges, holding his hands up to the woman in apology.

"You can be honest," Dean continues, "like, we're never gonna see you again and he's got a pretty thick skin."

"Uh, sure, alright," says the woman.

"Lovely," says Dean, and then reads the whole poem out loud to the woman. Cas listens to _how _he reads it, like he _gets _it, his voice low and smooth and so different to how he usually speaks.

Cas looks at his watch: 4:15. He hears Dean near the end of the poem and smiles sadly, because all he wants is an hour or two with this boy to hear about his childhood and his favourite music and why he's so afraid of his dad finding out about a concert. Was he raised to be masculine, always? Was he made to feel bad about himself for who he is? These are the questions Cas wants answered. He wants to hear it from Dean. He wants _Dean._

"Wow, that was really good," says the woman, nodding, "but I'm not sure what it was about? I liked the imagery, though."

Dean frowns. "Well, it's about false idols, and the pointlessness of progress, the futility of aspiring to anything."

"Oh." The woman nods again. "Yes. I like that. I like it."

"Thank you for your time," Dean says to the woman, and goes to sit down beside Cas as she walks away. "See? Even people who don't get it like it."

Cas just stares at him. "You got it."

"Yeah? So?"

"I... I like you."

"Yeah? I like you too, man." Dean holds the piece of paper out in front of him and pulls out his phone, taking a picture before Cas can stop him.

"What are you doing?" Cas asks in alarm.

"I really like it, so sue me," Dean says, handing the paper back.

"Someone might read it."

"No one is guessing my phone password in a thousand years. I think you're okay."

Cas cocks an eyebrow. "If you're gonna tell anyone, tell me."

"Bite me," Dean says, rolling his eyes.

There's silence for a few seconds before Cas realises that when Dean sat back down, he sat as close as they had been before, when Cas was reading over his shoulder. Cas smiles to himself and looks down at his gloved hands.

"Hey, Dean?" he asks quietly. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer."

"Shoot."

"Does your dad mistreat Sam, too?"

Dean thinks for a few seconds. "Well, he went off on one when he found out Sam wanted to go to college, but apart from that, no, not really."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because I don't let him," Dean says simply, voice hard in that quiet, private way.

Cas nods, and starts to say something else, but again, their time is up. Dean stands and says, "This is me, sorry. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Cas says, smiling.

"Better bring another piece."

"I wouldn't dare not to."

Dean grins and steps onto his bus at exactly 4:20.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

A short story seems appropriate this time. Something a bit heavier, something with characters and plot and dialogue. Let's see what Dean makes of _that._

He sits down at the bus stop at 3:45, looking up through the clear roof and at the clouds. They look heavy again. He hopes it'll snow. Not for his sake, but for Dean's.

Dean walks up at 3: 48 and he's not smiling. In fact, there are visible bags under his eyes, something which Cas has never seen on him before.

"You alright?" Cas asks as Dean sits down beside him.

Dean sighs. "Yeah. Tired."

"Late night?"

"Something like that."

Cas shifts in his seat. "How was work?"

"Same as usual. How was school?"

"Good, yeah. They served pizza for lunch."

"Sweet."

"Yeah." He frowns. "Dean, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Cas," he says, and it borders on aggressive. Cas doesn't respond, and after a few seconds, Dean sighs and turns to him. "Tell you anything, right?"

"Right. Of course."

His eyes are so big and so awfully vulnerable, and Cas looks right into them. "Well, uh, my dad, he - he didn't come home last night."

Cas raises his eyebrows. "Oh god."

"I mean, he does it all the time, but, he usually leaves a note, you know? Anyway, I was out all night looking for him."

"Does Sam know?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nah. I faked a note, don't want him to worry."

Cas feels his heart swell. "How long is he gone for usually?"

"No more than two days, it's fine. I mean, yeah. I'm just tired, it's alright." He shakes his head a little. "Uh, you got somethin' for me?"

"What? Oh, right." Cas pulls the pieces of paper from his pocket and hands them over. "Here."

"Wow," Dean says, flicking through the pages. "Don't write much, huh?"

Cas shrugs.

"Well, I'll get straight to work," says Dean, smiling.

"You don't have to read it all now."

"Hey, I got like twenty-five minutes, it's fine." He settles into his seat, sitting with his legs apart and leaning back. Cas knows he's being nice, and that he might _want _to read his thing, but he kind of wanted to talk to Dean, too.

Occasionally Dean does things like smile a bit more or laugh or go, "Aw," under his breath, and each time he does it sends a chill through Cas's body from head to toe.

But then a bus pulls up at 4 o'clock and Cas squints at the number, rearranging his glasses to do so, and yep, it's his.

"Shit," Dean says, noticing it too. "This you?"

"Yeah." Cas swallows thickly. "Well, I gotta go, then."

"Damnit, I'm not finished," Dean says, holding up the story. "Can I keep it overnight?"

"Yeah, sure, of course." A thought strikes him. "Hey, if I give you my number you can tell me what you think?"

Dean smiles. "Yeah, sure." He hands over his phone and Cas quickly takes his gloves off before programming his number in, keeping his trembling hands under control.

"Okay, I gotta go," Cas says, handing the phone back. "See you tomorrow, though."

"Call you later," Dean says, and waves as Cas gets on the bus.

He slings his bag onto his shoulder as he gets on, frowning when he sees a face he doesn't recognise behind the wheel.

"What happened to the other guy?" Cas asks as he pays.

"Fired him," the man answers. "Trust me - from this day onwards, this bus will arrive at exactly 4 o'clock." He smiles.

Cas sits down at the back of the bus, and watches Dean as they pull out. He's watching the bus go.

Giving Dean his number had been so he could _text _him; he'd never thought Dean would _call. _But they're probably gonna need it now that the bus is on time.

* * *

Cas runs to the bus stop the next day. He checks his watch as he goes: 3:55. God, why did his teacher hold him back after class? To tell him about an extra assignment he could do, or to torture him?

The running is made a little harder by the fact that he's not very fit, and the snow on the ground. He likes the latter, though. He hopes Dean is smiling.

He gets to the bus stop at 3:57 and Dean is there, sitting with Cas's story in his hands, and immediately he stands, and says, "I'm sorry I didn't call, there were some issues, I thought I could just tell you today - are you okay?"

"I'm so sorry," Cas says, out of breath. "I got held back."

"It's alright, don't worry," Dean says, smiling. "Anything serious?"

"No, it's fine. What about you? How's your dad?"

Dean purses his lips. "He came home last night. Drunk. I had to sheepdog Sammy away from him."

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's okay." He hands the story to Cas. "That was awesome, by the way."

Cas blushes again. "Oh. Thanks."

"Really, really awesome. Seriously. God, I wish I could go into this with greater detail and more complex enthusiasm but your bus comes in a minute and a half."

"I'm sorry, oh god."

"It's fine, not your fault."

Cas smiles as a response, and then they find there's nothing else to say, really. They have just over a minute left until Cas has to go and they have absolutely nothing important to say to each other.

"So was I right?" Dean asks.

"Huh?"

"Is he a druggie?"

"Hah, I didn't ask. I will this time though."

"Good, I wanna know." Dean smirks and Cas rolls his eyes at him.

Cas kicks his shoe against the snow on the ground. "I'm glad it snowed," he says, then laughs at how remedial the phrase is.

"Really? Thought you hated it."

"I do, uh. It's just..." He looks at Dean sheepishly and Dean looks back, confused, but then his brow lifts as he understands and his smile grows and they have a minute left -

And Dean steps forwards, and Cas hears the crunch as his foot goes through the snow, and then Dean is kissing him.

Cas stands there for a moment, shocked, and then finds himself leaning into Dean, bringing his hand up to cup Dean's jaw and his other hand wrapping around his waist, and Dean runs a hand through Cas's hair and his glasses poke at Dean's face and they laugh and Cas's only thought that isn't too inappropriate to mention is, _I wish we had more than a minute._ He smiles and even though he forgot his gloves again today and the snow is soaking through his shoes, every inch of him feels warm.

They break apart as the bus comes, Cas looking sideways at it while Dean stays facing Cas, hands on his waist, unwilling to let go.

"Dean, I have to go," Cas says quietly, and Dean steps backwards, blushing.

"Yeah - yeah, okay. Um." He lets out a breathy laugh. "See you tomorrow, Cas."

Cas smiles, grins, _beams_. "Yeah."

He gets on the bus, pays for his ticket, sits at the back, and watches Dean, who is currently sitting back at the station with his hands in his hair and his lips red and his face flushed and a slightly dazed look on his face. Cas waves, and Dean notices, looks up, and grins. And then the bus drives away, but Cas's lips are still wet, his heart is still racing, and Dean is still there, and he will be again tomorrow.


End file.
